


Keep me close (Will you love me most?)

by orphan_account



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alpha Steve Harrington, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Billy Hargrove Needs a Hug, Hurt/Comfort, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Neil Hargrove is His Own Warning, Omega Billy Hargrove, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: 'It makes his fucking blood  temperature rise some nights, just imagining Billy alone in his bedroom, trying to shift his bedsheets and blankets and pillows into a nest and not being able to make his bedroom feel safe enough, no matter what he tried.'Billy's struggling and Steve will always take care of his omega.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 11
Kudos: 256





	Keep me close (Will you love me most?)

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoy this small fic I wrote in forty minutes, several nights before my final exams :)  
> Please let me know if you liked this or if you have any suggestions, i crave external validation and reading comments brings me happiness.  
> I'm sorry if there are any typos, I'm exhausted and I was gonna upload this as anonymous until I'd gotten around to proof-reading, but I can't figure out how to do it, which is embarrassing in itself.
> 
> My thoughts are with everyone protesting and fighting for human rights at this time. The strength and courage it must take to be out making a stand in America right now is huge.

It’s one thing to _know_ Billy’s an omega. It’s one _other_ thing to know that his dad’s a piece of shit who thinks he can turn his kid into an alpha if he just hits him hard enough.

It makes his fucking blood temperature raise some nights, just imagining Billy alone in his bedroom, trying to shift his bedsheets and blankets and pillows into a nest and not being able to make his bedroom feel safe enough, no matter what he tried. 

Imagining all the times he’d gone into heat before Steve was even in the picture, checking into dodgy motels so his dad ‘ _didn’t have to smell whore for almost a week cause his omega kid couldn’t hold his slick_.’

It’s one thing imagining it, and a whole lot worse than his primal, hindbrain can handle when he actually sees it.

He can smell distressed omega before he can hear the hammering at his door. By the time the noise even registers, he’s halfway from the living room to the entrance hall, too driven by the scent of anxiety and _hurt_ to make a grab for his bat, to consider what danger might be outside to warrant the kind of fear response he was being pulled toward.

He yanks the door open harder than he needs to, ready to sprint toward whatever danger the omega was in, not knowing or caring which particular omega it was.

He doesn’t sprint anywhere.

Instead, he’s met with a bundle of stress hormones and grief so strong that it almost pulls an involuntary snarl from his throat, an evolutionary response to threat that would undoubtedly be the worst thing he could possibly do in this situation.

Billy’s got his arms wrapped around himself real tight, fingers digging into his biceps and hunched in on his own body. 

Something’s really fucking wrong here- he doesn’t know what, but he knows that Billy was fine at basketball that afternoon. Maybe a little touchier than normal, a little more antagonistic like he normally gets when he’s starting to come up to his heat, but _fine._

He’d gotten a little mouthy in the locker room before practice, so Steve had waited for the rest of the guys to finish changing, ignoring the smirks and couple of amused glances he’d seen shot his way while he’d held Billy back until the last player had slunk out, looking disappointed to miss the interaction. 

Tommy could go fuck himself.

It hadn’t been anything bad, per say. Sometimes, he now knows, Billy just needs a moment, and does’t have the language to ask for it.

So he’d pulled his omega in close, guiding Billy’s head toward the crook of his neck and smiled when he heard the deep breaths of an omega scenting his mate. It made him feel warm in his chest, some deep-seated, biological instinct rumbling with satisfaction at how easily Billy would submit to him. But the boy had still been a bit of a brat since their fourth period, so he cradled the back of his head and stroked his hair with his left hand, and brought his hand down on his ass in a sharp slap with his right hand.

Billy had whimpered, cock twitching against Steve’s body at the impact, and he’s pretty sure that if he reached his hand down his basketball shorts, they would have come away wet with slick. It was just a warning.

It wasn’t like he’d ever pull Billy over his knee in a school locker room when anyone could walk in, but the sound was so sweet that he couldn’t resists a second, harder slap, appreciating the soft jiggle of Billy’s cheek against his hand for a second before moving away.

Something had obviously happened between the end of practice and now, and it’s making his insides twist at the fact that he doesn’t know what.

He’s reaching in for Billy when he catches sight of his eyes, and then he’s pulling him in closer than he thought possible.

Billy’s eyes are glazed over and staring foggily at Steve’s chest, not raising to meet his eyes the way he usually does. When he’s tugged Billy into his arms, wrapped him up closely and nudged the door shut with his foot because he doesn’t want to stop touching him for a second, he feels the tremors running through the smaller body in his arms.

Billy’s dropped.

Badly, by the way it looks.

Steve has to bite back a whine and a growl and nuzzles his face into Billy’s neck, exuding as many calming, reassuring alpha hormones as he can, 

‘Billy?’

No response.

‘Come on, baby. Please talk to me.’

A whine that hurts almost as bad as the silence.

He can’t smell blood, is pretty sure Billy’s not injured, which is _good,_ but it’s also terrifying, because Billy had shown up at his door at odd times with black eyes before and he’s never _dropped_ like this before.

It takes a while to manoeuvre them both to the couch, Billy clinging to his body with his legs wrapped around his waist and he has to mute the TV after he settles back onto the couch with Billy in his lap. 

He smells like deodorant and cologne under his own, natural scent, and faintly of Neil, of the house he lives in and he wants to change that- he knows omegas have sensitive skin and that Billy, in particular, gets frustrated when he’s in denim and his omega is making itself known.

Sure enough, Billy’s started squirming on his lap, burrowing his face further into Steve’s hoodie-covered chest and scratching at his jean-clad thigh with the hand that isn’t clinging to him.

In spite of the situation, he mentally coos at how unaware and pliant and clumsy the boy, who could usually put Steve on the ground in three seconds flat, gets whenever he falls into that hazy, omega place in his head.

‘Here, Billy, I’ve got you. You’re okay.’

Taking the leather jacket off involves prying Billy’s hands individually into more cooperative positions, but the shirt is easy to pull over his head, and Billy honestly, he swears to God, whimpers in relief when the constricting jeans are peeled off and tossed to the floor next to them with his shoes, leaving him in completely naked. Billy doesn’t like wearing underwear. Steve loves it about him.

In this state, Billy doesn’t get embarrassed about being naked while Steve’s clothed, or about whining audibly or anything else associated with submission, in fact, he thinks it’s comforting for him.

Steve pulls his own hoodie off and pulls it on over Billy’s head, missing the sight of Billy naked, but relieved to smell his own scent on his omega.

Billy smiles softly, smelling less like a nervous breakdown than when he first came in, and sometimes, Billy just really, really needs Steve to help him feel okay again.

The TV is unmuted, and he watches it half-heartedly, most of his attention concentrated on his omega, huddled in his arms with his face still buried in his neck, ass cheeks just slightly fuller than an alphas’ by nature on display.

He strokes a hand up and down his back, runs fingers through his hair and doesn’t try to pull out the knots or anything, just gently touching him continuously. One of his hands rests on Billy’s ass, stroking up and down, squeezing and petting in the way most omegas love, whether they’re too embarrassed to acknowledge it or not.

It’s a while later that Billy, more coherent and far more calm than when he first arrived, tells him what happened.

‘He used his alpha cords on me when he was yelling.’

And Steve’s blood runs cold because he already knew Neil Hargrove would make the world a better place by wrapping his car around a tree on his way home from work, that he was an abusive, pathetic excuse for an alpha, but this is _fucked._

He has to work real hard to control his scent, for Billy’s sake. His instinct to drive to the Hargrove-Mayfield residence and take his bat to Neil’s skull is only rivalled by his desire to stay as close to his omega as possible.

He pets Billy’s ass. Kisses his forehead.

Holds him until he falls asleep and then carries him to bed.

Vows to hold onto Billy for the rest of both of their lives, if he can.


End file.
